Smell The Hydrangeas

Blouse, Banana Republic. Skirt, thrifted YSL Encore. Scarf, Brooks Brothers. Sandals, Geox.

Sometimes you just have to stop and smell the hydrangeas and be thankful for what you have. Take, for example, this Yves Saint Laurent diffusion line pencil skirt that I acquired right before my vacation. It's not my usual choice of color (unless it's cool to match one's clothes to one's skin tone), but at six dollars of French silk, I made it a favorite. In other words, cut trumps color, even when you're a color addict like I am. The only downside? Since it was actually made in France in the mid-nineties, the skirt is not vanity-sized... A tight squeeze for my accidentally-ingested-dairy size (It works best with my dehydrated-and-looking-fab size).

The Work In Regress

Dress, Club Monaco. Cardigan, J.Crew. Headband, Lacoste. Necklace, street vendor. Belt, Joe Fresh. Sandals, Geox.

Fun fact: the patterns on this dress are made of beads, sequins, and paillettes, which render it quite heavy (when trying to dissuade me from purchasing it, my sister dubbed it "the armor dress") and a terrible choice for passing through airport security (an armor indeed). Every time I wear it, several sequins fall off, adding to its imperfection. On the bright side, I possess a work-in-regress of a dress! Phew. Glad I got that rhyme off my brain - it's been dancing around for years, blocking more lucrative trains of thought (hello, career!). Now I must get back to work mode, lest other rhymes should take over my youth.      

JWoww to Jackie

Dress, Calvin Klein (via Winners). Headband, Lacoste. Sandals, Geox. Umbrella, Hudson's Bay Co.

Notice anything different? Yes, I've roasted in the sun quite a bit since our last encounter - I'm not proud of it, but it keeps happening, like an embarrassingly enduring passion for Jersey Shore. Speaking of which, I was starting to look a bit like a Guidette and was paranoid that I'd get recruited by MTV, so I had my German stylist (if you're in Vancouver, you must see Tina) chop off my damaged do into something classier. Less JWoww, more Jackie. I think I can pull it off, as long as I keep my fist pumping to a minimum.

The Prodigal Blogger

 

Dress & bikini, J.Crew. Belt, sister's. Hat, Talula. Sunglasses, Winners. Tote, Chapters. 

Dear Blogosphere Friends,

Thank you for not unfollowing me while I was away. It really means a lot. To show my appreciation, I shall regale you with several photos of my wrinkled vacation ensembles (haven't mastered the art of packing yet), involuntary tan (the sun has been stalking me ever since we broke up), and some London sightseeing (where it was cold and rainy - just the way I like it). Stay tuned.

xoxo Grammar Girl.

Drag Brag

Dress, Gap. Pink belt, Eddie Bauer. Beige belt, Joe Fresh. Sandals, Nine West.

I'm writing this post from the greenhouse that is Montreal in the summer, pining for the cool breeze of Vancouver and if you haven't noticed, I doubled up on belts there. What? Who does that? People who blog their outfits, that's who. After a while, you start to worry that a dress does not an outfit make, so you try to outdo yourself with any kind of gimmick. What works on the blogosphere usually makes you look crazy on the street - kind of how stage makeup looks good from the audience, but up close, people assume you're a drag queen. You know what I'm talking about.

Mellow Yellow

Blouse, Tommy. Skirt, Banana Republic. Hat, Talula. Belt, Joe Fresh. Sandals, Geox.

Have you heard? Alessandra got married. I'm a little peeved she didn't invite me to the wedding, but at least I got to guest post while she's on her honeymoon. Wanna see me show some serious skin? Go here. And don't zoom in, unless you're into that freshly-plucked-chicken look. (Who am I to judge other people's fetishes?).

Once More To The Bookshelf

Dress, J.Crew. Necklace, New York & Co. Pumps, Nine West.

I have a hard time reading newly published works because I'm constantly worried that there are so many classics I haven't pored over and old favorites that are begging to be reread. Yes, I eagerly await every new Joan Didion treasure (Blue Nights has been testing my patience like no other), but nothing beats the rediscovery of old comforts. I've never really understood those who seek newness because I find myself obsessed not with firsts, but with recreating firsts. This is why I have been going through old books at my mother's, falling in love again with E. B. White's Once More To The Lake eight years after our first encounter. 

Post Puzzle

Blazer, Banana Republic. Skirt, vintage. Sandals, Nine West.

If your retinas are burning from this print overload, I may need to send a check to your ophthalmologist. Modern etiquette is tricky - where is Emily Post when you really need her? I suppose we could venture further into the clan and consult Peggy, Peter, Cindy, Anna, Lizzie, Daniel, or Elizabeth, but is this kind of social sensibility genetic? My retina-burning question aside (a burning question in itself), I'd much rather learn about the Post offspring with the recessive gene - the black sheep who put their Belgian shoes on the coffee table, slurp their café au lait, and play Angry Birds during a performance of Swan Lake (in a loge, no less). Now, that's a SLICE TV show I could get behind.